Legacy
by Sensue
Summary: A short one piece. Dean's thoughts a couple of weeks before going to hell. Season 3 Gifted to PADAVIS. :


_Author's note: This story was written a bit differently. I call it "free-flowing", as I did not plan a thing and the words just flew from my mind and onto the computer screen. It's about Dean and what I believe is self-reflective of his thoughts before his death in Season Three._

_I dedicate this story to Phoebe. I promised you I'd finish an angst-filled and somewhat morose story for you, and I hope you approve. (I was thinking about Al, Bart, and Kelly too.__) _

* * *

It was dark, such was usual at eleven at night and Dean couldn't stand to sit in the dingy motel room any longer. Sam was glued to his computer screen and there was no sign that he was going to stop the clicking of the keys anytime soon. So, the only option was to take a drive around town.

There was just something about it; driving around randomly, just listening to your favorite music at top volume with the windows down and the breeze hitting you in the face as the air cooled. There was no rush; just relaxing in the quiet night-- the traffic was nearly non-existent, excluding the truck drivers and occasional car.

Dean drove for a short while before deciding to head towards the lake that he and Sam had driven by earlier. The sounds of the water, bugs chirping, and the bright moonlight would serve to put things back into perspective. There were days when it seemed that everything in his life was out of _his_ control. That there was nothing he could do to fix the world, to destroy the evils he'd seen.

He pulled up alongside the shore, and shut off the engine; the Impala's purr soon slowed to a whimpering stop. He sat, just leaning against the worn seats, comforted by the familiar embrace of the leather and the scents of nature, gun-oil, and metal. Taking in a deep breath, he pushed himself out of the warm car and got out to take a walk.

There was a graffiti painted bench right beside the shore, the lake was calm; no one was in sight. Dean sat on the bench wearily, for once, his carefree attitude melting away to see the person who was hidden inside.

He only had a few weeks left; weeks, he thought. "This sucks!" Dean shouted into the air, no one responding in the still of night.

Slumping into the bench, he covered his face with shaking hands and told himself to just breathe. It helped calm the impeding panic attack. He hid it quite well, the stress and panic about his 'deadline'. As far as he knew, Sam didn't know a thing about it.

Closing his eyes, he focused on breathing; in and out, controlled. As the echoed pounding of his heart gradually subsided, he realized one dangerous fact. He left his weapon in the car.

There were no sounds. The crickets stopped chirping; the environment around him still and froze. Dean tensed, waiting for an attacker from out of the shadows. He turned on the bench, fight or flight his ever-guiding instinct. He was ready to run, when he caught sight of two glowing green eyes stalking him in the dark.

The creature slowly emerged from the tall grass and inched its way over to him, frightened. The young man relaxed, letting his hand drop towards his ankle. The animal was only a foot away, staring at the hunter - testing his intension. Its nose sniffed the air as it neared the hand outstretched to scent it.

Once it was calm and trusting, Dean reached out and started to pet the small kitten. Its fair-colored fur was matted, dirty and it seemed cold as it pushed its face into his hand and body, wanting nothing more than to be comforted.

Dean quickly tired of leaning over the bench, and gently picked up the squirming bundle. A peak at its rear determined the sex, and he felt giddy when he discovered it was female. "Hmm." He laughed to himself, "Even felines can't resist my charm."

She snuggled in his lap, circling a couple of times, then kneading his thigh with her paws as she settled down. Dean let his hand cup the scruff of her neck, rubbing her head behind the ears, and smiled as she purred.

"I think I'll have to name you." He murmured, his eyes filling slightly with unshed tears that he refused to let fall. "You know, it was just a dream, but I figured that I'd screw up one day and end up with a kid or something... I always figured... if it was a girl, I'd name her Mary. You look like a Mary."

Mary seemed to like her new name and pressed herself even closer, letting her chin rest against his chest under his heart - like he imagined a newborn baby would press against its mother.

His heart, which had been pounding in fear, was now slow and deep - as if he was ready to join the kitten's nap.

The lake slowly came back to life and Dean slumped on the bench, enjoying what he considered the calm before the storm. In the dark, he could close his eyes and remember.

If his little brother was with him, right now, he could picture Sammy giving him the 'puppy dog' look in attempt to convince him to keep the kitten. He'd give him a list of reasons of how and why it would be possible for a living animal to live in the car and travel with them. Dean would, of course, listen patiently before just simply saying "no, Sam." Sam would be completely dejected, probably wouldn't talk to him for a couple of days before snapping out of it. What Sam wouldn't know was that every bone in his body wanted so desperately to settle down, to be able to have a home that would be able to not only raise a pet, if he chose, but also a family with babies, moms and dads. He wanted to leave a legacy behind; instead, he would leave Sam the only living member of the Winchester family.

Mary only symbolized what he would never live to see.

Dean stared at his hand, the one that was still petting the purring bundle on his lap. It trembled slightly, out of exhaustion and living on one meal a day. Contrary to the opinion of both Sam and Bobby, a burger in the morning was the only thing he could stomach. For some, the smell of tomato soup and chocolate chip cookies baking was home. To Dean, the memories before his mother's death had faded, leaving only dreams of burger joints and roadside diners. The meals spent with little Sammy in a highchair, while he sat on John's lap being fed cut up pieces of hamburger as the waitresses cooed at the both of them were the ones that stood out in his mind; the ones that made him smile.

Now that he was living on borrowed time, he sought out things that made him happy. As Sammy so eloquently stated, he wanted to be a big brother again.

He'd gone through the five stages of grief - the denial and anger stages held the longest; he never realized how badly until he made his little brother cry. And now, there was no doubt in his mind, he was going to die a painful death. That, of course, led to thoughts of Layla Burke and her battle with brain cancer. Imagining her drawn out pain made him tense up. The cat lifted her head at him, blinking in irritation that he had the audacity to move before readjusting her position on his lap.

At least his death would be short and sweet. Hellhounds weren't known for being gentle, they'd tear open his flesh and he'd quickly bleed to death. On one of his more morbid moods, he borrowed his brother's computer to research medical articles on blood loss deaths. Afterwards, he'd gotten drunk enough to forget the clinical terminology of the medical world. It didn't matter how you said it: it would hurt like, _well_, hell.

Later that week, he broke into a pharmacy and stole a box of the most potent Fentanyl patches they carried. It would be easy to just slap a few on his body right before the dogs ripped him to shreds. He hid them in his bag, making sure that Sam didn't find them. Yeah, he'd say that he was in the acceptance phase if he was planning on drugging himself into oblivion right before the main event.

The sound of an owl's 'hoot' interrupted both of the figures sitting on the bench. It made Dean turn to look at the source, and the kitten's eyes flashed glowing green before launching up off her bed to attack the owl. She crept like a ninja, crouched low and quiet. Her claws extended and she started barking softly.

Dean's eyes hooded and his face grew dark again as he pictured the cat clawing the beautiful animal to death. He leaned forward and picked up a rock. With intent, he threw it at the owl; it flew away with a squawk.

The kitten turned and hissed at him with irritation. He'd made her miss her target and she was angry.

"Sorry, Mary. Can't always get what you want." He murmured as he stood up and started walking back to his car.

He took one last look at the lake, and his Mary.

She jumped back up on the bench to sit on the spot he had vacated; he guessed it was still warm from his body heat. She patted the seat, as if to re-invite him, but it was getting late. He needed to leave and get back to his only living legacy now. His brother would be worried about him.

She looked happy and warm. The scene was calm; the lake was peaceful once again.

The owl he'd saved landed on another branch, higher up on a tree. It thankfully hooted at him and Dean smiled.

"You're welcome."

* * *

_  
Author's note: Again, this was just my mind... harnessing Dean's mind. (I hope)_

_Dean saving the owl was one of my favorite scenes__. There was something about it; That Dean was satisfied saving the owl from his fate. There's also something poignant about the kitten being so loving to Dean, and yet, its instinct is to hunt and kill. _


End file.
